Hermione's Summer Adventure
by The Illustrious Crackpot
Summary: What exactly DID Hermione do during the summer between her first and second years? A short story that looked a little bit longer on looseleaf.


**Hermione's Summer Adventure**

(The Illustrious Crackpot)

Hermione Granger could be the Brain of Britain if she wanted, or a big business worker, or even the head of her own company, though she was only about eleven.

Have I forgotten anything?

Oh yes, just one simple detail—she's an honest-to-goodness, wits and magic and potions and all, witch. Witch-in-_training_, actually, having just now gotten off the train from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, where she had just spent her first year assisting her best friends Harry Potter and Ron Weasley save the school from He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, or—Hermione shuddered internally as her brain subconsciously processed the information—the Lord of Darkness, Voldemort. Her friends were very diverse in appearance, with Harry being raven-haired with glasses and a lightning-bolt scar on his forehead, and Ron tall and lanky with a red head and freckles. By looks alone, Hermione wouldn't be considered very outstanding or bold, at least not with bushy brown hair and buck teeth...Hermione quickly shook her head to dislodge vain thoughts on something so superficial as appearance.

Finally she spotted her parents in the crowd at King's Cross Station. Both were still in their dentists' uniforms because of the tight work schedule. After a final farewell to Harry and Ron, she called out to her dad and rushed her trolley over to see him. It had never before occurred to her that she had missed her parents while away at Hogwarts—_Yeah_, she thought sarcastically, _saving the school from a powerful Dark Sorcerer leaves you _so_ much else to think about._

After a brief hug from her mother and a slightly long ride back home, Hermione entertained both her parents and her visiting aunt Martha with a tale of her adventures at school. Her mother seemed horrified at the number of times Hermione had narrowly escaped death, but her father just shook his head, grinning and saying, "That's my girl." Aunt Martha said nothing, but it appeared to Hermione that she was experiencing both reactions; after all, it was from Martha's husband, Uncle Alfred, her mother's brother, that Hermione's magic powers came from.

After Hermione's story was over and both her parents had gone to the dental clinic they worked at, Hermione approached her Aunt Martha. She was magically knitting, though the fact that the needles were simultaneously floating _and_ knitting by themselves didn't lessen her aunt's concentration.

"Aunt Martha?" Hermione asked, "where's Uncle Alfred?" She hadn't seen him at all since she had come home again.

The older woman didn't even look up. "He went into the woods behind the house about a half-hour ago—there's a place in there that he likes to go to for relaxation."

"Ah," Hermione replied, and went up to her room to unpack her trunk.

* * *

She didn't know why, but Hermione seemed loathe to put away her wand yet. Her robes and books she had organized in her closet without much thought, but after so long she felt reluctant to keep her wand far from her grasp. She supposed it was the fact that this past year she had learned how important it could be to be prepared and know where your wand was at all times.

Through her window Hermione suddenly noticed a flash of white on the lawn behind her house. Rushing to the sill for a better look, Hermione peered around for the white again, and—there! A pure white ferret (or what looked like one) digging through the cultivated herb garden she had started before going to Hogwarts.

"Of all the nerve!" she huffed, and immediately tramped downstairs to tug on her shoes and confront this menace to her St. John's Wort.

Once outside, the ferret seemed larger than it had appeared through the window. In fact, it _was_ much larger. Hermione let out an involuntary gasp, and at the sound the ferret spun around and launched direstly at her head. She was stunned, especially when she swore she heard it scream, "Head for hell, beaver-face!"

_A talking ferret?_ Hermione thought dazedly. _Wait—no._ She went cold. _A Jarvey!_

Only just in time did she dive to the side, but "just in time" never stopped an action hero from getting hurt...well, _barely_ ever. A gash formed on her cheek, and little droplets of blood dripped from it. Hermione started to panic. _I can't deal with this! I'm just out of my first year, and I can't do magic outside of school!_ She forced herself calm. _Cool down, cool down. I have to figure this out._

Without rhyme or reason, her eyes strayed to a pile of rocks near her house's back door. For years her father had been meaning to fill in the potholes in the driveway, but never gotten around to it. Aware of the Jarvey, who was about to spring again, her hand moved with lightning precision to a certain rock about the size of a wallet. At the same time the Jarvey launched again, Hermione threw the stone with all her might, bracing herself for contact.

_Crack!_ The rock had connected with the Jarvey's head. Cautiously, Hermione looked up in time to see the creature wobble uncertainly into the forest. Her first reaction was of relief, but with a sudden jolt she remembered what Aunt Martha had said: "He went into the woods behind the house about a half-hour ago." _If that Jarvey was there,_ she realized with horror, _there must be more! And my _uncle's_ in there without a wand!_

She didn't even pause for consideration and simply ran into the forest.

* * *

It was only after she was entirely lost that Hermione decided that this might not have been the best idea. There was one bushed that looked like Jabba the Hut that she knew she'd passed three times, and she had the peculiar sensation that the forest was somehow leading her in towards the heart. _Well, for good or ill, I'll have to comply,_ she decided grimly.

Without warning, something small and hairy clipped her unprotected arm. With a cry of repulse, Hermione drew back and attempted to get to grips with the situation. It's kind of hard to see what you're fighting while you're fending it off with one hand, so it took her longer than it normally would to recognize it.

_Doxy_, she recited mentally. _Looks like a small, hairy pixie but with more limbs and a poisonous bite._ "Bloody nice!" she cried in frustration. "Just what I need—a poisonous enemy!"

The Doxy evidently had gotten bolder, because it was making fiercer attacks. Hermione was tiring out at an alarming rate. Finally, when Hermione was drooping over with exhaustion, she could sense the Doxy preparing to attack—just one last time would be all it needed, with its poison.

_No...I _won't_ give in like a coward!_ yelled her subconscious, and in a final, futile attempt, she raised her arm up. The Doxy was too surprised to pull up short, and crashed straight into Hermione's outstretched wand, jaws clamped right onto the magical wood. Hermione was just as shocked as the small creature; she hadn't remembered taking her wand with her. But the stiff surprise didn't last long, and with a burst of effort, Hermione pushed magical energy through the stick of wood, the way she would to make it emit sparks, and completely fried the Doxy.

A rumble sounded behind her, and Hermione realized with growing dread that her fight with the Doxy had forced her into the a clearing directly adjacent to the heart of the woods. Slowly Hermione turned, and when she was fully facing the source of the rumbling, she recognized what it was.

It was like the final stage in a video game: beat the boss, get your quest item and then hightail it out of there. And when Hermione faced her adversary, she _wished_ it was just a videogame where you can restart and try again whenever you want, and if you get killed you can shut it off and retry later.

Standing in the clearing in front of her was an Acromantula, a deadly, humongous spider with pincers clicking and poison even greater than the Doxy's running in its veins.

Hermione almost screamed. Without magic, you were already half-dead against an Acromantula. And half-dead was what her gray-haired, wiry uncle seemed to be when she saw him lying on the forest floor in front of the huge spider. The waterworks that was her brain had suddenly run dry.

But then, deep in her heart, she felt courage. She felt as though she was growing bigger and bolder right in front of her own eyes, and suddenly the faucets in her head turned back on. The spider had been stunned for a few seconds by her unexpected arrival before its meal—now how to get that to work for her. She froze, then smiled. _That's a plan._

Unfortunately, the time it took Hermione to formulate that plot gave the spider a chance to get back its wits, and it struck at her with one of its clawed, hairy legs. Hermione dodged with ease, and the spider's leg dug into the ground; she seemed to be reenergized, and more powerful than ever.

While the Acromantula was stuck trying to pull its leg out of the firm earth, Hermione dashed over to her uncle and started patting down his pockets. _He must have it on him, he must, he must..._ Suddenly, triumphantly, she pulled a good-sized hatchet out of Alfred Granger's coat. Ever since a troll had broken his wand and his only choice had been to lure the troll to a woodcutter, her uncle had carried an axe with him wherever he went. For once Hermione was glad of it.

The Acromantula had finally gotten free, and it started rushing at her again. Hermione stood straight and confident, and she looked it straight in the eyes—all eight of them. Then, very calmly, she pointed her wand at it and shot off sparks into its face. As the spider stopped short, terrified, Hermione ran in back of it and started hacking madly at the trunk of a tall tree with the hatchet. Her subconscious mind fed her exactly how many strokes and where the strokes should be applied so that the tree would fall on the Acromantula and not her. Even though it was a real emergency, she couldn't risk any unauthorized magic.

Once again, the giant spider got over its momentary shock and charged at her. A sense of victory swept over Hermione, and she casually leaned against the tree to make it topple. It wouldn't budge.

Alarmed and slightly panicked, Hermione pushed against the tree with all her might. It still didn't move. The Acromantula was closing fast, and Hermione felt frozen to the spot. Was she going to die like this, at eleven years old, not even a second year at Hogwarts? And without even taking her O.W.L.s or N.E.W.T.s?

Unexpectedly, her courage began steadily to rise again. _I won't die,_ she thought fiercely. _I won't. I __won't_.

"I **WON'T!**" she cried, and instinctively raised her wand. "IMPEDIMENTA!"

The shockwave generated by the spell broke the last of the tree's resistance, and the Acromantula was flattened as the old oak fell with a loud crash. Not just a little surprised, Hermione paused in wonder. Not only had she broken a severe magic rule for minors, that of not using it outside of school, she had just incantated a very powerful spell that she hadn't even _learned_ yet. She wasn't supposed to know how to cast it until she was at least in her fourth year! What would her uncle—

"Ohmigosh," Hermione gasped. "Uncle Alfred!"

She immediately ran over to her uncle's stirring body. "Uncle Alfred!" she called. "Uncle Alfred!"

He opened his great brown eyes just as she laid his hatchet by his side. "Hermione!" he blurted, sounding astonished. "Was that _you_ using the Impedimenta on that Acromantula?" To get a better look, he wiped his glasses on his trousers and blinked wildly at her.

"Sort of, Uncle Alfred," Hermione replied, a little embarrassed, and gave him a full account of the afternoon starting with the Jarvey. When she finished, she knew she still had one question left to ask. "Uncle," she began hesitantly, "every time I was fighting, I felt braver and smarter than usual—almost like I drank an aptitude potion. What—what was it?"

"_Liberaliter Educatus_," her uncle murmured, almost to himself. Then he looked her in the eye and raised his voice a little louder. "It's an intuitive, latent magical talent passed down every few generations of my side of the family. I missed it myself...but it seems like you're the lucky winner." He ruffled her hair affectionately, then checked his wristwatch. "Whoops, it's getting late. And don't worry about the Impedimenta, I'll vouch for you if the Ministry of Magic comes calling."

And with that, they struck out for home.

* * *

**Epilogue**

Hermione's quill tip quivered above the parchment of her favorite journal, and she paused in contemplation. Should she tell Harry and Ron about what had happened? They liked to know what went on with her, after all.

Hmm...no. The search for the Sorcerer's Stone was one thing, but she thought she'd keep her own adventure to herself. There are some things you just don't share with friends.

Smiling, Hermione dipped her quill in the ink and began to write.


End file.
